Plunge
by sketchnurse
Summary: Because sometimes, even though they did it everyday, they found breathing to be a difficult thing. BB, in three parts.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first time I've really written for Bones and feedback would be greatly appreciated! Just a little drabble that grew **_**much **_**larger than expected. Part two of three should be up tomorrow.**

_Brennan_

She knew that disappearing into the warm, molten pool of his alpha-male, overly-caring eyes was physically impossible, but that didn't stop the notion from forming in her head, dismissed by years of habit.

She was a best-selling author, a highly-esteemed forensic anthropologist, a crime-fighter, the epitome of female empowerment and independence.

There wasn't much that she couldn't do.

There wasn't much that she could.

Not about the warm, uncomfortable yet comfortable, unnatural yet natural, unfamiliar yet completely familiar feeling that overcame her every time Seeley Booth showed her how much he had come to care for her.

She wondered how they had ever gotten this far.  
She wondered why on earth they hadn't gotten farther.

Temperance Brennan was not a woman of emotions, or feelings, or dependence on irrationality.

Nor was she a sociopath, and so, her brain was wired to react to certain things in certain ways.

She had tried to prevent the tragedy that had riddled her life from defining who she became, but in compartmentalizing everything, by dealing with all sides of thing with logic, the losses she had experienced had indeed shaped her.

Her heart had not always been so hard to reach, but she had learned long ago that having it out in the open only invited people to do with it what they wanted.

She could be easily damaged, and so she removed the possibility as best she could.

Sometimes, though, she let people in, hoping that just that one time, her outlook on the world was a little bit flawed, allowing that one person to be good for her.

Usually she was wrong; usually she got hurt again.

Usually.

Against all odds, Seeley Booth became a pillar in her life, a symbol of strength, of decency, of overcoming every obstacle to do what was right.

Somehow, though, in all of his goodness, he had managed to not be the one thing Brennan had seen him as, when they had first met.

When they had first met, she, in her usual, clinical manner, had seen him as a very fine specimen of a man.

She had immediately speculated that he would be very good in bed.

Perhaps, if he wasn't too atrocious to work with, he would find his way into hers.

What she hadn't expected was the deep friendship that they had now, a friendship that overstepped some boundaries and steered clear of others.

Secrets could be told, and indeed, it was said between them that they didn't keep anything from the other, lest one of them feel the icy sting of betrayal once more.

Brennan had no intention of alerting him to the fact that she had _not_, in fact, told the whole truth.

Because she was a woman of facts, facts first, facts as the ultimate decision maker, and the facts simply told her that Booth didn't want any part of what she wanted.

He had told her, countless times, in countless ways, that she could overcome her belief that love wasn't something worthy of myth, that she wasn't worthy of anyone's full and loyal devotion, that there wasn't, in fact, a man who would suit her every need.

His eyes, so brown and warm and full of platonic conviction, managed to chill and heat her at the same time.

Because every time he tried to tell her that she didn't need to hang onto rationality so stubbornly and blindly, she believed him a little bit more.

The only problem being, of course, that she could see everything he said about true and eternal and pure and transcendent love applying to him and only him.

Booth and Brennan, Seeley and Temperance, she repeated the names in her head until she wanted to scream, because everything they had ever been through convinced her that he _would_ be with her forever, and that forever would slowly become more and more agonizing.

It would hurt her too much, to see that tender, caring smile and know that it didn't mean enough.

She had long ago convinced herself that fairytales simply did not exist (in fact, early in her literature experience, she had discovered the original Grimm's stories, and concluded that everything had become honey-coated and softened for children).

And yet, she had fallen into one of sorts, only this time there was no kiss of life from the knight in shining armour, only take-out Thai food and late night bottle of beer, all of which she could see him doing with one of his male friends.

There was no special romantic element to their bond, only years of closeness that seemed to mean nothing more than friendship to him, suggestive comments from her best girl friend sliding off of his surface, a sexual tension that she wasn't even sure was there anymore.

If he was content with what they had… well, there was no way he couldn't be.

Not when he had the ability to change it all in an instant, not when he had the powers of charm and charisma and confidence, not when… not when she wanted it so badly she ached despite her efforts otherwise, and surely he could pick up on that, because he was, after all, the heart of their partnership.

Not the blood-pumping, life-giving organ, although she supposed he was some of that too, but the part of their partnership that could feel things, sense when people were uneasy, know the connections and the history between people through a simple glance.

How then, could he possibly not know that she had fallen for him, despite her best efforts, despite all the evidence that told her falling in love with Seeley Booth would only lead her to pain?

How then, knowing that he could so easily end the suffering of the part of herself Temperance Brennan had tried to erase, could Booth not give her what she needed?

The only logical explanation was, of course, that he _didn't_ want to make love to her, just like he described so reverently, and so, he let them remain partners and best friends, because it was important to him.

He just didn't feel that annoying, bad and yet oh so good burning on the inside that she felt when their eyes met in the way that made everyone else in the world disappear from her mind, if only for a few seconds.

Because of this, there was a time bomb on their relationship, the timer set to the amount of strain she could take before running off in search of a more pure science, because at least in pure science the evidence was discovered and reported and taken into account, not buried and kept secret and unconsidered.

Maybe she _could_ survive off smiles and hands at the small of her back, maybe she _could_ survive off Christmas trees and mistletoe kisses that meant nothing to him, maybe she _could_ survive off fantasy and imagination, scenarios that she was painfully aware would come nothing close to the real thing.

Maybe friendship was enough.

Maybe she didn't want it to be.

But taking the plunge, diving off the ten meter board, was foolish, not without knowing how deep the water was beneath it.

And there was no way to know without swimming down to the bottom.

When the most innocent of smiles turned into something forbidden, her throat would close up and the answer to the question her partner just asked her had to squeeze its way out.

Because sometimes, even though it didn't seem like such a complicated thing, Dr. Temperance Brennan found breathing to be completely out of reach.

Hope had come fluttering brightly into her life, along with the pain that had accompanied his memory confusion, for surely it was no coincidence that he, too, could allow a world where there was no line to cross to become his reality, if only in his dreams.

Then again, she had read what she had written, to _him_, about him; hadn't that been a hint? Hadn't the fact that she had fleshed out what she desired and told him while he was in a coma enough to make him realize that no, she was _not_ content with the way things were?

She had been desperate, and so, boundaries no longer seemed important.

Temperance Brennan had waited a long time for Seeley Booth to tell her that he loved her, even though over the years it had evolved from the need for some sort of acknowledgement that they had a romantic connection to the actual desire to hear the words, but once again, she had been slighted.

Obviously he had been uncomfortable with the possibility of fathering her child, an act that was most commonly associated with a romantic bond.

Obviously when he told her that he loved her in a professional, atta-girl kind of a way (which she still, unfortunately, does not entirely understand), he had been expressing gratitude for her friendship, for why else would he have tacked on such unexpected, awkward words?

Obviously they were what they were, and would never become anything else.

She was grateful for what they did have, for it was unlike any relationship she had ever had before, and yet…

She, selfishly and irrationally, wanted more.

Who would mess with something so good, for the opportunity for a bed partner?

Who _wouldn't_ take the risk, for the opportunity to have _everything_?

It was a constant battle, two sides within her arguing over pros and cons as she examined evidence, watched over by the very man that caused her internal conflict.

He was so good for her, and yet, in being so good, he was the worst thing that had happened to her since her parents left her.

Her carefully laid barriers would crumble, she would revert back to her fifteen year old self, clumsy and scared and unsure of how to proceed.

He would be with her while she broke down, comforting her while she wept, and it would hurt so much, but she wouldn't be able to throw him away, for who else would offer her such unadulterated comfort?

Who else could heal her and harm her at the same time, all with a charm smile and a twinkle of the eye?

Perhaps she wasn't meant to have it all, perhaps she was meant to forever search for second best.

Perhaps she wasn't made for diving.

Not when every opportunity to jump was met with a pounding heart and heavy breathing, the air not making its way to her brain.

Who could think like that?

Who could judge distances, temperatures, signals and depths with all that noise in their heads, every little breath and movement exaggerated as adrenalin coursed its way through their system?

She certainly couldn't.

She preferred to remain in control.

She preferred to be safe, confident; even when danger was apparent, she could deal with it.

Not with him.

Not when every smile could mean pain or pleasure.

Not when every hand at the small of her back could mean safety or danger.

Not when the water looked so cold, and yet so invitingly refreshing.

If the time ever came, she was sure she would take the chance.

_So_ sure.

She had been ready to, when they had almost kissed (she was sure of it, that they were about to touch lips) at the Egypt exhibit, but her friends had interrupted.

Or perhaps prevented a disaster, because who knew what would have happened?

Maybe he hadn't been gravitating towards her face, but noticing something on her cheek, a spare bit of hors d'oeuvre.

And maybe he had brushed aside the piece of hair that was never out of place because he felt that he needed to balance out the strangeness of her fixing his uncrooked tie, maybe he had noticed that she had done it not out of platonic affection, but out of desire for what the never-kiss would have accomplished.

Maybe he would never want the same thing she did.

Maybe it was better that way.

Maybe she didn't want to believe that.

Maybe she needed to.

She needed to stop all of this speculation, because when had speculation ever gotten her anywhere?

No, Booth was the guts man; Booth was the man to string little clues together to come up with a theory.

She couldn't do that.

She needed her equipment, and her knowledge, her training, to figure things out.

Perhaps there _was_ something in the little looks he gave her, in the way he stared at her for what seemed like hours, something in his need to protect her.

But you cannot measure the mindset of a look, the emotions behind a stare, or the intentions behind protectiveness.

And so, she was lost, in desperation for the unknown to be over.

She held together, as she always had, the appearance of an iceberg on the surface, so who was to say that that wasn't what lay beneath?

Those who were brave enough to dive beneath the surface of the ocean of facts surrounding her still couldn't travel to her core, and because of that, she still remained a mystery, to those who knew her, to those who didn't.

She could be content with that.

She didn't want to have to be.

She wanted Booth to be able to explore the innermost recesses of her personality, but how would she know he'd like the underbelly?

How would she know he wouldn't run away after hearing her admit she had finally find love?

There was no _test_, there was no _experiment_ to be done that wouldn't be ruined by bias, there was no way to know for sure that everything would work out.

She was not a risk taker.

And yet there was a part of her, growing angrier and stronger at every charm smile and offered slice of pie, that wanted to become one, just to see what would happen.

Nevertheless, her overly-rational mind weighed the pros and cons, and decided that there was too much to lose.

Too much to wake up to and not see, too much to find in a Jane Doe box, too much to see sail away from her, too much to see confined to an asylum, too much to never be brought to life in her womb.

So that was why, when Seeley Booth came knocking at her door, 11:08 in the evening, to bring her a case file or takeout or a movie or a case of beer or something else that in no way would come anywhere _close_ to meaning he was in love with her, she got up, swallowed everything she wished she could scream at him, and answered the door with a smile and a sigh.

"Booth, what are you doing here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and put me on alert. The response was great! I apologize for not getting this up earlier, but snowboarding gets in the way of writing sometimes!**

_Booth_

Her voice floated through his mind as it always did, the different notes and inflections spelling out words in a language that sometimes even he couldn't understand.

It wasn't a _normal _'partner' thing to do, coming over in the middle of the night, after a long day, exhaustion convincing him that the only thing that would make him feel content and relaxed would be the sight of his partner.

_Partner_.

How he _hated_ the sound of that word.

Because how could he not, hearing it spill out of countless sets of lips, including her own, defining the limits to their relationship, confining him within the regions of the line that had once been so necessary.

Still was necessary.

Would likely always be necessary.

And how many times had he heard her say that she _could_, in fact, protect herself, defend her perfect body and perfect mind from harm, all on her own; who was he to say she _needed_ someone to depend on?

Perhaps there were things she could protect herself from.

Perhaps there were things she _couldn't_ protect herself from.

Perhaps he wanted to be there to make sure she didn't encounter any of them.

Seeley Booth was a chivalrous man.

And sometimes he felt that chivalry being lost on Temperance Brennan.

Other times, however, in a small smile or a slip of tongue, he could see the fading of her façades, of the restrictions that kept him away from everything he wanted with her.

Seeley Booth prided himself on being the 'feelings' guy.

His gut rarely let him down, and in the simple things, glances and touches and hesitations, he saw the connections between people, where they stood, how they felt about each other, what they wanted from the other.

How, then, had he not realized that what he had been feeling towards his Bones was _love_?

How could he have not connected everything she was to him to what he knew to be the most beautiful, delicate, incredible and dangerous thing in existence?

Maybe because he had only ever been 'in love' when the object of his affection had been similarly enamoured, as for the longest time, he had only seen his protectiveness as a need to keep his partner and best friend safe, his jealousy towards other men a result of her beauty and the proximity he had to it nearly every day, the emotional bond that they shared…

He had slowly been drawing closer, circling around the fortress she kept around her heart, looking for a way in, if only for a little while, before the guards of rationality and self-preservation threw him out; trying to get her to believe in the things she had given up on so long ago because he needed her to be happy, to be taken care of in the way that she deserved.

Perhaps he _wasn't_ the feelings man.

Perhaps he was blinder than he had thought.

Because how could he have missed the butterflies, the increase in heartbeat, the rash of heat spreading up his neck, how couldn't he have linked all of these things to _love_, real love, love that made him want to scream to the universe that he would go to the ends of the earth for her, whisper to her softly in the quiet of midnight those sacred three words?

Who in their right mind would ever want to do harm to such a spectacular example of the goodness of humanity, the purity of science and the beauty of truth and innocence?

Apparently most of the world was insane, because it seemed at every turn she was put into danger, dinner dates turned sour, bombs set off when dancing should have been happening, shots fired, explosions on the road, criminals trying to escape, enemies after her and her family.

Her parents seemed to have set off the pattern with their sudden departure, a departure that had left holes in everything she had known.

He had heard the stories, gleaned from the cryptic comments that sometimes made their way out of her mouth that she had closed herself off, knowing, both from her experiences in abandonment and abuse at the hands of foster parents, that the only way she could deal with life's foul stench was to simply stop registering it as such.

Facts were clean, facts were quantitative.

Facts didn't set your heart racing, facts didn't make you want to vomit, facts didn't leave you gasping, wondering just why your luck had turned so sour so quickly.

Emotions did those things.

And he, slowly but surely, had reintroduced feelings and irrationality and unpredictability into her life.

Was she better or worse for it?

He didn't know what he was; though Temperance Brennan had changed his life so spectacularly and beyond anything he had ever seen coming when he had first laid eyes on her, the ice queen scientist, he was no longer sure he could continue keeping from her what he now knew he felt without cracking from the strain.

Her eyes, so blue and intelligent and full of platonic conviction, managed to chill and heat him at the same time.

Because every time she tried to tell him that he didn't need to hang onto gut feelings so stubbornly and blindly, he believed her a little bit more.

The problem being, of course, that he began to see everything she said about truth and data and pure science and chemical love in their relationship, and he found himself constantly arguing about what he thought was evidence and what he thought was just the hopeful thinking of a love-struck man.

Brennan and Booth, Temperance and Seeley, he repeated the names in his head until he wanted to scream, because everything they had ever been through convinced him that she _would_ be with him forever, and that forever would slowly become more and more agonizing.

It would hurt him too much, to see that genuine, friendly smile and know that it didn't mean enough.

It hadn't been so bad before.

It had never been so good.

Not when every little smile from her sent a thrill of happiness through him, not when every little injury she did to the art of figures of speech made him grin like a fool, not when every moment they spent together was better than all the other good moments of his life put together.

Seeing her raise a child, his child, a_lone_, would have broken his heart.

Now, seeing the same thing would smash it into pieces so small he was sure even her expert hands wouldn't be able to reassemble it.

But he had survived; she hadn't needed to take his sperm to pass on the traits she thought she was so selfishly keeping to herself.

If he hadn't, if something had gone wrong during the operation, he would have been watching her from heaven (assuming that he made it there, of course; over the years he had begun to doubt that anyone could), seeing his little girl or boy grow up without him, without a father.

_He_ hadn't had a father, not really.

Not when the man who was supposed to have raised him instead had beaten him to the ground, his self esteem shrinking with every lash of the belt, dreams of glory and worthiness destroyed with every drunken shout, everything finally collapsing in a crescendo of hopelessness that had only ended when his grandfather, his Pops, had intervened.

And so, knowing the importance of a father in any child's life, knowing that he was good to Parker, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stay away from his child and would cause trouble with the single mother picture Brennan wanted to paint, he had declined her request.

And then, in the form of a cartoon baby whose voice he had only ever expected to hear talking to the Griffin Family in Quahog, his world had come crashing down, once again, and for what he knew wouldn't be the last time.

The experience he had had on that boat had been dismissed as some sort of divine occurrence, but the _conviction_, the unadulterated concern on his partner's face as she asked him, in one of the most serious voices he had ever heard her use, to _trust_ him, had told him that perhaps there _was_ something wrong.

And there had been.

Before, there were late night dinners and discussions of love and the making of it; after, memories that weren't real: whispered confessions of love, bodies rolling over and over to make it.

Before, there was friendship, deep caring and affection, a sexual tension he wasn't even sure meant anything.

After, an exposed need for a more than platonic relationship, a connection whose depth was discovered and explored with hesitant urgency, desire so strong it stopped the words from coming out of his mouth.

Because sometimes, even though he knew it was supposed to be the easiest thing in the world, Special Agent Seeley Booth found breathing to be something that could be stopped instantly by the most innocent of things.

The thought passed through his head more times than he could count, but he couldn't help but thinking, a million times a day: she didn't know just what she did to him.

She didn't know how he made her feel, how the smallest little thing sent his brain into spirals of sinful thoughts, how even the most minuscule sign of danger to her sent him into panic mode.

Against all odds, Temperance Brennan had become a pillar in her life, a symbol of strength, of decency, of working and working and working until the mystery was solved.

He had known he loved her, cared about her, wanted to protect

He just hadn't known how far that love had gone.

Infecting his body, his mind, his soul, with everything that she was, the smell of her perfume, the movement of her frame as she navigated her way through a crime scene, clumsy and yet completely graceful at the same time, the feel of her head on his shoulder at the rare moments when she let herself cry, the little sparkle of desire he saw in her eyes that he was sure was just a trick of the light…

His list could go on and on.

And indeed, it did.

He could now spend days and days writing love letters, poetry, odes to the way the sun caught her hair in ways making it glow in the same way he had been told the halos above the angels of heaven's heads glowed, serenades outlining just how many ways he wanted to make love to her, ballads telling the story of what their lives could be, if only she loved him.

If only she loved him.

There was no special romantic element to their bond, none that she could recognize, only years of closeness that seemed to mean nothing more than friendship to her, suggestive comments from her best girl friend sliding off of her surface, a sexual tension that he wasn't even sure was there anymore.

Temperance Brennan, monarch of rationality and logic.

Who but he could dive beneath her surface and discover that the ocean beneath the ice was filled with life, exotic and beautiful and teeming with things to discover?

Who but he could be naïve enough to be slighted in his search for love; her conviction that love, true love, the stuff of myth and legends was so impossible removed all hope for such an astronomical affair between the two of them.

And yet, everyday now, he dreamed of their potential…

Days and days he could daydream, he had certainly proved that with what he had experienced in the coma, but to miss days and days in the flesh with the best real version of Temperance Brennan he could get was something he couldn't do.

Not when there were a thousand moments to try and leap on, hope dashed dozens upon dozens of times a day, and yet…

When they had one of their moments, when their eyes met for what seemed like an eternity, when a smile was met with another secret, just for them smile, Booth knew it was all worth it.

It was worth it to keep the hope up, because what he felt for her had solidified and now he knew what he wanted, what he needed, what he was sure she needed.

He would wait.

Maybe forever.

Maybe for nothing.

Maybe for something.

Maybe for the moment when all of his inhibitions could be cast aside, his mind, body and soul thrown All In.

He was no longer a gambling man.

He had priorities: his son, his job, his Bones.

When he took a risk, he knew the likely outcomes, and only sacrificed when it was absolutely necessary, when living without what he was trying to save would be worse than any torture.

If she was content with what they had… well, there was no way she couldn't be.

Not when she had the ability to change it all in an instant, not when she had the powers of logic and intelligence and confidence, not when… not when he wanted it so badly he ached despite his efforts otherwise, and surely she could pick up on that, because she was, after all, the brain of their partnership.

Not the order-giving, life process-sustaining organ, although he supposed she was some of that too, but the part of their partnership that could judge things, interpret the facts, know the connections and the history behind things with her careful examinations.

How then, could she possibly not know that he had started getting closer to her, despite his best efforts, despite all the evidence that told him falling in love with Temperance Brennan would only lead him to pain?

How then, knowing that she could so easily end the suffering of the part of himself Seeley Booth had learned to embrace, could his Bones not give him what he needed?

The only logical explanation was, of course, that she _didn't_ want to make love to him, just like he described so reverently, and so, she let them remain partners and best friends, because it was important to her

She just didn't feel that annoying, bad and yet oh so good burning on the inside that he felt when their eyes met in the way that made everyone else in the world disappear from his mind, for minutes, for hours, for days.

Because of this, there was a time bomb on their relationship, the timer set to the amount of strain he could take before running off in search of an emotional relationship, because at least in emotion the feelings were out there and explained and discussed, not hidden and mysterious and tabooed.

Maybe he _could_ survive off smiles and hands at the small of her back, maybe he _could_ survive off Christmas dinners and mistletoe kisses that meant nothing to her, maybe he _could_ survive off fantasy and imagination, scenarios that he was painfully aware would come nothing close to the real thing.

Maybe friendship was enough.

Maybe he didn't want it to be.

But taking the plunge, diving off the ten meter board, was foolish, not without knowing how deep the water was beneath it.

Happiness had come rushing back into his life, along with the pain that had accompanied his memory confusion, for surely it was no coincidence that she, too, could allow a world where there was no line to cross to become her reality, if only in her fictional world.

Then again, he had dreamt about a life with her, about her, in his coma; hadn't that been a hint? Hadn't the fact that he had fleshed out what he desired and imagined it fully while he was in a coma been enough to make her realize that no, he was _not_ content with the way things were?

He had been desperate, and so, boundaries no longer seemed important.

Seeley Booth had waited a long time to tell Temperance Brennan that he loved her, even though over the years it had evolved from the need for some sort of acknowledgement that they had a romantic connection to the actual desire to say the words, but once again, he became scared.

Obviously she had been uncomfortable with the possibility of him fathering her child and having an active part in its life, a role that was most commonly associated with having a romantic bond with the mother.

Obviously when he told her that he loved her in a professional, atta-girl kind of a way (which he simultaneously regretted and was thankful for), she had been unsure of what he meant, for why else would she have responded in the same way, trying out the new term as she usually did with figures of speech and pop culture references.

Obviously they were what they were, and would never become anything else.

He was grateful for what they did have, for it was unlike any relationship he had ever had before, and yet…

He, selfishly and irrationally, wanted more.

Who would mess with something so good, for the opportunity for a lover?

Who _wouldn't_ take the risk, for the opportunity to have _everything_?

It was a constant battle, two sides within him arguing over pros and cons as interpreted body language and speech, studied by the very woman that caused him internal conflict.

She was so good for him, and yet, in being so good, she was the worst thing that had happened to him since his father had started abusing him.

His carefully laid barriers would crumble, he would revert back to her thirteen year old self, reckless and scared and unsure of how to protect himself and his brother.

She would be with him while he broke down, awkwardly comforting him while he cried, and it would hurt so much, but he wouldn't be able to throw her away, for who else would offer him such unadulterated concern?

Who else could heal him and harm him at the same time, all with a clumsy smile and awkward eye contact?

Perhaps he wasn't meant to have it all, perhaps he was meant to forever search for second best.

Perhaps he wasn't made for diving.

Not when every opportunity to jump was met with a pounding heart and heavy breathing, the air not making its way to his brain.

Who could think like that?

Who could judge distances, temperatures, signals and depths with all that noise in their heads, every little breath and movement exaggerated as adrenalin coursed its way through their system?

He certainly couldn't.

Not when he wasn't fighting a selfless battle.

Not when the only thing on the line was his own heart, not when there weren't any innocent lives to be saved, not when he wasn't serving his country.

No, he couldn't be so brave with her.

Not when every smile could mean pain or pleasure.

Not when every hand at the small of her back could mean acceptance or further withdrawal.

Not when the water looked so cold, and yet so invitingly refreshing.

If the time ever came, he was sure he would take the chance.

_So_ sure.

He had been ready to, when they had almost kissed (he was sure of it, that they were about to touch lips) at the Egypt exhibit, but the squints had interrupted.

Or perhaps prevented a disaster, because who knew what would have happened?

Maybe she hadn't been gravitating towards her face, but noticing something on his cheek, a rebellious smear of barbeque sauce.

And maybe she when she had straightened out the tie that wasn't crooked she had noticed that they had been moving towards something she wasn't comfortable with and wanted to balance it out with what she thought was a friendly gesture.

Maybe she would never want the same thing he did.

Maybe it was better that way.

Maybe he didn't want to believe that.

Maybe he needed to.

He needed to stop all of this faulty interpretation of evidence, because when had pure facts ever gotten him anywhere?

No, Bones was the science woman; Bones was the woman to piece information together to come up with an explanation.

He couldn't do that.

He needed his gut, and his experience, his training, to figure things out.

Perhaps there _was_ something in the little looks she gave him, in the way she studied him for what seemed like hours, something in the way she had begun to warm up to his affections.

But you cannot interpret in a language you do not understand, and the signals that Temperance Brennan sent out were constantly enigmatic.

And so, he was lost, in desperation for the unknown to be over, for the depth and safety of the water beneath to be discovered.

And there was no way to know without swimming down to the bottom.

He was a man of the terrible beauty of emotions and passion.

And yet there was a part of him, growing angrier and stronger every time she kissed him on the cheek after he drove her home, that didn't want to be one, that wanted to be able to sit and watch and record everything that happened and come to a logical conclusion.

With Bones, he wouldn't risk everything on a whim; no, he would assess and observe and…surely the scientific method, the thing that she depended on most, the thing that never let her down, would do the same for him.

He would try an experiment, not a full-blown dive off the thirty-foot board, not yet, not without knowing how deep the water was below, but a depth test, seeing just how far he _could_ swim.

And if there was enough room to let him fall without hurting himself, without hurting her… they would take the fall together.

And that was why, when she answered her door, pajamas hanging adorably off her perfect, womanly frame, expecting a case file or takeout or a movie or a case of beer or something that in no way would ever come close to meaning he was in love with her, he tested the waters.

"Bones, would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow night?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Stomach flu is not conducive to a healthy writing environment. **

**Here is the last part, so thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and put me on alert. Writing this has been great, and I'm very happy people have been enjoying it.**

_Head/Heart_

"Dinner?" she asked, cautious, guarded, appearing calm on the surface. Temperance Brennan often appeared to be the epitome of calm. After so many years of hiding the radical emotions that threatened to make her act irrationally, she rarely became anything else.

There was no reason to rejoice, no reason for the sensation often described as 'butterflies in the stomach" to begin, no reason for her oft-dashed hopes to get up once again.

No reason for anything other than her usual response to unexpected late night calls.

That was all this was.

All anything like this ever could be.

He saw a look flash across her face for a half-instant before it was replaced with a neutral expression, and he didn't see enough of it to know what it had been.

She looked peaceful, as if she had been sitting on her couch with a mug of herbal tea and a copy of the latest anthropological journal, soft jazz floating throughout the apartment. He took a second to allow the image of her so relaxed and at comfortable, before continuing on with the hasty speech he had prepared on the drive over.

He had always hated speeches, the endless preparation and requirements for perfection and political correctness drowning out any sort of meaning he ever wanted to put into them, but stepping on toes that weren't meant to be stepped on was never worth the satisfaction of _not_ painstakingly going over every last detail before sending it out to the crowd.

He knew her patterns, her quirks; he depended on them to make the invitation go right.

"Yeah, well, I was out for Rebecca's birthday, at Parker's request, and I thought, hey, maybe Bones would want to come here someday."

Booth tried his best to make his voice as nonchalant as possible, but over the loud beating of his heart, he wasn't sure if he had pulled it off.

Though his partner was no expert in subtle inflections in tone or minute cues in body language, he knew she had learned enough about him over the years they had worked together to know when there was something wrong.

He took a breath, and Brennan noted to herself that she had never seen her partner so uneasy in a non-hostile situation.

She wondered if he had eaten something odd at the restaurant, and questioned the wisdom of returning for another meal.

She questioned the wisdom of going to any restaurant with him at all, when it wasn't after a long day solving crimes, a perfect excuse to enjoy a nice glass of wine and a plate of pasta with the man she longed to be free to adore.

She wondered, not for the first time, not for the thousandth, whether she would be relaxed and uninhibited with him, as she had slowly learned to be, or tense, guarded, and unsure, as she had been when they had shared their first meal together.

His intentions were unclear, hidden beneath the confusing façade of wanting to treat her right.

But what was right for her, anymore, anyway?

How would he know, when she wasn't able to discuss with him her innermost desires, tell him in dizzyingly scientific detail the myriad of ways she wanted to uncover the man underneath the suit and sweats and shower water.

She found it bitterly ironic that the one thing she _couldn't_ tell Booth, the one who had coerced her out of the shell she had grown over the years, the one whom she trusted with her life and the lives of the ones she had come to care for, was that she longed to learn, first hand from him, the magic of the love-making he seemed to hold in such high esteem.

How was she to learn, if not from him?

How was she to learn, when all of the men she had been with agreed with her tried and true assertion that sex was sex and _love_ was only for people who couldn't see past the end of their own nose?

Every time she sunk deeper into the fairytale belief, he inadvertently convinced her that he had been _wrong_ about there being someone out there for everyone.

He was who she had come to believe in love for, he was the one she wanted to never leave, he was the only one she had ever not been able to have.

"I figured we'd better go sooner rather than later," he continued, throwing her a nervous smile. "'Cause ya never know when a new body's gonna show up, right?"

Booth chuckled awkwardly, diffusing the situation, or so he hoped.

He was slowly losing control, the careful planning he had done disappearing faster than one of his fries at the diner with her.

Then again, at times like these, when his Bones looked so beautiful and delicate and unique and priceless and so undeserving of a simple FBI agent like him, when she smiled at him with an gentleness and innocence that few could ever _dream_ of possessing, he often found himself unsure of what to do with the space between them.

To move forward, or backward?

Time moved forward, their relationship moved forward in the sense that they became more and more the center of each other's worlds, but when it came down to the hard, irrational, unpredictable things, they often chose to step away, back into safety.

Away from the vase shape that kept everything the way it was, painful and freeing and beautiful and unconventional and revolutionary and so painfully _nowhere_.

"I suppose it _is_ hard to predict the time a set of human remains would be discovered."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, questioning him with her body language, asking him why on earth he was on her doorstep with a question that could have easily waited for the next morning.

At least, that was the way his adrenalin-excited mind saw her facial expression.

He questioned the intelligence of conducting such an experiment, but how else was he to disprove the law of the line that had been set into place?

How else was he to know it was safe to dive, to take the plunge?

"This place serves this _amazing_ chocolate cheesecake, and I know you don't like to eat _too_ unhealthy, but it was really good, and I know how much you like things that are good… I mean, good food, 'cause we always get the best Thai food…"

He trailed, off grinning at her, his thousand-watt smile managing to put her at ease as it always did, and she found herself returning it, despite the unfamiliarity of the situation.

She couldn't explain it, couldn't put any sort of label on it, because she couldn't see anything new on the surface of their conversation.

And yet… perhaps there was something different in the way her partner was holding himself, in the way he smiled at her, in the way he rambled longer than usual.

Then again, it could have been the wine (but he wouldn't have driven over there), or the stress of the evening with his ex (but why would he be in such a good, albeit edgy mood, if that were the case?), or some other unknown factor.

He couldn't be asking her out for dinner in order to court her, because Seeley Booth had long proven to her that that was something that would never happen.

"I must say I'm slightly confused, Booth."

"Hmm?"

His smile faltered slightly, but not so much that the warm, fuzzy feeling didn't disappear from her stomach.

Not so much that the good feelings that always made her acquaintance when she talked to him left as they did whenever the two of them got into a serious argument.

At those times, her being filled up with a buzzing passion that threatened to consume her and turn her into a person of uncontrollable anger.

And when the argument ended, the buzzing passion often stayed for a while, overturning stones in the hidden recesses of her mind, revealing feelings that had been hidden and discarded.

He did that to her, he turned her into the person she had tried to leave behind when the truth of the wickedness of the world had first settled into her existence, he turned her into the woman she had always dreamed of becoming, strong and zealous and confident and successful.

She didn't feel those things now, not when uncertainty reared its ugly head in the form of her partner on her doorstep.

Not when intentions were unclear, not when responses to the question he was to ask her still hadn't formed in her head, the brain power usually dedicated to response generation being used to fabricate scenarios in which this conversation took the turn she wished all of their conversations could take.

"I'm _confused_, Booth. Why would you want to go to the same restaurant twice in a row? Surely the experience wouldn't be as good as going back later."

"Oh! Yeah, you're right, Bones, that _would_ be stupid."

Booth grinned in his typical goofy Booth style, mocking himself for a mistake he had intended on making.

He was in control again, he had the plan by its antlers and he wasn't going to let it run wild, trashing the garden he had worked so hard make healthy and strong with Bones.

She looked at him, questioning him once again without remarks; so much more was being said than the words exchanged, as had always happened with them, as would always happen with them.

"Hey, I could take you to that new French place that opened up downtown; I know how much you like that soup they make. And then we could go to a movie or something, or a walk through the park, or we could grab a drink in the bar-"

"Booth, this outing you want to take me on sounds like a classic example of a date."

A date, a date, a date, her heart raced, and a light flush crept up on her face, but she willed herself to retain composure, she couldn't let a simple dinner request reveal everything, destroy everything.

But it was so hard to control… and she liked to be in control.

Control was what kept pain and disappointment out of her life.

Booth learning that she was what some people would consider 'in love' with him would surely bring both.

They did things like this all the time, dinner and a drink, dinner and a movie, dinner and a walk even, but always after a case, always after something else.

Never before had plans been made in advance.

Never before had they been spelled out in words that everyone could understand, the message of a need for intimacy and closeness and the other's company loud and clear to anyone who knew them.

"Uh, yeah?"

His heart stopped in his chest, and he sent a silent prayer to God, asking Him to let this go as he had planned.

The question hadn't been unexpected.

Temperance Brennan was a rational woman, she would recognize that the elements of what he wanted to do the following night sounded like a date.

He could deal with that.

He couldn't deal with her figuring out his ulterior motive, his true desire; because he was sure that she hadn't recognized the connection that they had, and how much better it could get.

"I'm simply informing you of this because you've expressed reservations in the past about being with me in any sort of _romantic_ setting, and doubtless an intimate evening would negate everything you've said about _lines_ and all of those other things."

Her voice was cold, as clinical as she could make it.

And it clipped slightly at the end, hopefully slightly enough that Booth didn't hear the telltale signs of heartbreak in her tones.

She needed the protection.

What she didn't need was the disappointment at hearing his mumble about not wanting to see her in that sort of a way, that they were, in fact, just partners, and sorry, he wasn't interested in helping her with her 'biological urges', but hey, if she was still looking, there was _surely_ a man out there who could show her transcendent and eternal love.

He had just wanted to enjoy her company for the evening, 'cause wasn't that what friends did, enjoyed each other's company, listening to stories and jokes with secret yearning to cross the invisible line?

Apologies could be made.

But words couldn't be taken back.

He heard the trace of bitterness in his voice at the word 'line', and his heart clenched a little bit tighter.

Could she…?

Was it possible?

Was it possible that she, too, nearly broke into pieces every time someone mistook them for a couple and a no had to be hastily said, they were just partners, just partners, just partners…

"Bones?" he asked, nervous as ever. "Bones…?"

His eyes pleaded with her, his mind silently asking God, again, for the ability to steer their conversation away from disaster.

He didn't know if he could deal with her closed-up self again.

He didn't know if she could.

He didn't know what was going on in her mind, because sometimes, like now, she was about as easy to read as a sun-bleached wall of hieroglyphics; not only was she hard enough to understand as it was, but the wall she seemed to have erected around herself made the message still more indiscernible.

Seeley Booth needed to know why she had hidden within herself again; was it because she, as he had thought he had known since they had started working together, didn't want anything to do with the romantic views of relationships he held, or was it because she was afraid of the same thing he was, rejection and incoherent apologies about misread signals and intentions.

"I'm sorry, Booth, but I really have to be getting to bed. I will see you when we have a case. Meanwhile, I will be working on my novel. So, if there's nothing else urgent, then…"

She was hurt, he could detect it in the way she held herself, in the way she moved away from him quickly, hoping that he wouldn't see the expression on her features, the tell-all, her poker face dropping and giving him all of her cards.

"Wait, Bones…"

He grabbed her arm as she made to shut the door, making sure that he didn't hurt her by putting too much pressure on it.

Her face was visible to him now, the surprise at having been stopped not allowing her to slide on the mask of indifference again.

And he saw everything, the hurt, the disappointment, the wear that the merry-go-round they had always been on had done to her, the confusion because for once, she wasn't able to deal with a situation using her scientific abilities.

The experiment had produced results, the theory had been disproven.

So why wasn't he dancing for joy with the knowledge that he had bested his rival?

Perhaps because the knowledge had come with a price he never liked to pay.

"Booth," she started in a choked voice, trying her hardest to control the tempest of emotions that had started up inside of her. "I told you I would take to you later. It's late, and I want to go to bed. If you don't mind, I'd like you to leave."

Her eyes, the most intelligent and confident and compelling he had ever seen, distorted themselves with tears, uncried, because she saw no reason to cry in front of him, because of him.

It was irrational, it was foolish, it was illogical, it was against everything she had ever taught herself to be to let her emotions get the better of her because of what could never be.

Maybe this was the time to be finished with waiting, because she had finally discovered that even an innocent invitation, in its simple innocence, could break open the box of feelings she had been hiding from him and the rest of the world.

That was something she couldn't deal with.

That was something she was sure he wouldn't want to deal with.

"Bones, _Bones_, wait!"

He stopped the door from slamming, and gently pushed his way through, as she lost the will to prevent him from entering her home.

"I want you to leave, Booth." she said as she slid weakly down the wall onto her floor, wetness finally coating her face, her eyes staring up at his hopelessly.

They were still brown, they were still warm, they were still kind, they were still caring.

That made it all the more agonizing.

"No." he said, as firm as he could, insides pulsing with different feelings, happiness, at knowing that he had perhaps been blind the whole time, concern, at the state she had gone into, but most of all love, love for the woman who had been calm and collected, her usual self, just a few minutes earlier.

"No." he repeated, pushing everything he felt about her and every wonderful, terrible thing they had ever been through into that one word. "I'm not leaving Bones, because I don't know why you're crying."

She looked down, hiding her eyes from his view, as if by that action she could erase the image of her teary eyes from his mind, letting him leave, letting her feel the walls crashing down on her own.

"It doesn't matter." she said, bitterness once again letting itself become part of her tone, not so much that she noticed it, not so little that he didn't.

"Well, it has to have been something I said." Booth said, sliding down to sit beside her, ignoring the protests in his worn out back.

He put his arm around her, knowing that comfort was what she needed, the knowledge that he wasn't going to run away.

She stiffened, refusing to give herself the satisfaction of being able to lose herself in his arms, refusing to let her silent tears become anything more than silent.

She needed to close up, because an innocent dinner invitation had suddenly sprouted into something she hadn't seen coming, not this soon.

Not this close to her, not whispering soothing words to the spaces in-between her hair, not threatening to turn everything she had finally come to accept into another traumatic experience.

"It, it wasn't." she managed to get out, hiding further behind her walls, still stiff and unyielding to his comforts.

"You're a terrible liar, Bones." he said, no hint of a grin in his voice, but there was something warm, something Booth-like in the way he dismissed her pathetic attempt to get him away from the reason she had finally broken.

It was affection, warm and soft and soothing, making its way through the mood that had fallen over them, and it was this affection that finally loosened the hinges on her self-resolve.

Her body moved closer to his, settling underneath the arm he had set around her shoulders, her own appendages wrapping themselves, seemingly of their own free will, around his sturdy frame, wet tears leaving little spots on the crisp white shirt he had been so careful not to stain only a few hours before.

His hands rubbed soft circles on her back, phalanges and carpals and metacarpals feeling the flesh beneath the thin fabric of her camisole, nerve endings sending signals up to his hyper-aware mind, brain matter storing the information along with everything else he knew about Temperance Brennan.

"I think I love you." she whispered, barely heard from so far beneath his ears, but he heard her scared confession, every last word of it, already committing it to memory in order to hear her say it later, just in case she ran, just in case there was some sort of mistake, just in case it all had been another frighteningly real dream.

He held her tighter, trying to let her know that he, too, knew the painful sting of love seemingly unreciprocated, but the message must not have been sent correctly, because he heard tiny sobs from behind the curtain of dark hair that covered her face and felt the vibrations of sadness throughout his body, sending another wave of emotion coursing through him.

He lifted her chin, and saw, once again, everything laid bare for him, no screens, no walls, no façades.

She was beautiful.

She was hurting.

She was Bones.

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, her eyes vibrating with the thousand things she was feeling.

As his hands moved to hold her head, her silky locks cascading over his forearms, he looked into the orbs that were so often an enigma to him.

He understood.

He understood everything, because it had been there all along.

Everything he felt for her was reflected in her eyes, because it seemed, she felt the same way.

The burning passion, the fluttering stomach, the almost primal need to protect when danger arose, they were all there, exposed for him to see, to enjoy, to love.

"Bones," came the sound of his voice, and she heard it, daring to hope, once again, that this wasn't simply caring, that he surely understood everything she had said, both aloud and through the language of silence, that he, too, ached like she did for something more than the amazing friendship that they had, that he would tell her that yes, he did love her, and not in an 'atta-girl' kind of a way.

Her head moved closer to his, so close that the tips of their noses touched, each connection sending new thrills throughout each of them.

New thrills that could only have even newer outcomes, new thrills that would surely lead to everything they had ever shamefully dreamed in the dead of the night.

"Bones." he said again, the word that had started it all, and suddenly noses weren't all that were touching anymore, no, soft lips were touching lips, tentative tongues were meeting tentative tongues with mounting fervour, hands finding hands clumsily in the half dark before moving on to more interesting, unexplored land.

Backs met floor, and the world spun on its axis several times as two bodies crashed together repeatedly, the open door kicked shut by an unidentified failing limb, teeth scraping flesh, neck becoming acquainted with mouth, hands wandering with increasing urgency, finding new places to adore as old became new, fear became love, shallow became deep, the depth measured, the plunge taken.

Breaths were taken in-between submergences, air gulped eagerly, but not as eagerly as the taste of the other was sampled, longing and need and lust and infatuation making for a potent recipe.

Bodies were carried into bedrooms, laid onto mattresses, shirts and buttons separated with extreme prejudice, cotton fabric lifted with no thoughts, Cocky belt buckles undone with no contemplation of logic, no regard to rationality, no need for pondering.

Love was made, laws were broken, minds and metaphorical hearts breached with insurmountable certainty, bodies joined in the way they had joined for millions of years, the connection that creates life.

And as the final breath was caught, the final hand grasped, the final look shared, Seeley Booth looked into the eyes of Temperance Brennan, and said what had been on the tip of his tongue for too long.

"I love you." he told her, winding his fingers through her hair and down her back, caressing skin, cradling her soft, reluctant soul.

She kissed him softly, still basking in the delicate golden afterglow.

The water was as cool and refreshing as they had imagined it, the dive a hundred times as thrilling, the plunge into the new world of open infatuation and caring a thousand times as eye-opening, and the taste of surfacing to a new beginning a million times as sweet.


End file.
